Mmm, America
by slashhack
Summary: [Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby] Pointless, silly, G rated slash, just because I can. Rating bumped up because it's slash, and I like to use bad words. Heh, buttcheeks. Now with chapter 3!
1. And here it all began

This is short, silly, poorly written, and pointless. But if I try to write anything with any substance, it's gonna be all serious and angsty, and that's not what Slash Hack is all about. Slash Hack is about bringing the good folks here at ff-dot-net every slash pairing that looks plausible, but has no fics. Every pairing needs at least a one-off, and I'm here to give 'em. Hell yeah.

Plus, this scene was just so damned inexplicably HOT. I have no idea why…

**Mmm, America…**

Jean had never expected to like the man, had never expected to respect him, and had been absolutely floored when he found himself attracted to him. He was an ill educated, slow, stubborn, temperamental American. Still, he was also a guileless, surprisingly sensitive, and unexpectedly charming man. And somehow, puzzlingly, he was damn hot. And now they were face to face- so close that he could feel the heat radiating from the other man- and he could think of nothing to say. He wanted to simply grab him and kiss him, but that would never do. Stupid Americans seem terrified of such personal contact. After a moment's deliberation, he extended a hand toward Ricky. "By defeating me today, you have set me free. And for that, I thank you."

Ricky looked at his hand, paused, and pushed it away. "I will never shake your hand." Jean flinched. "Ever."

So this was to be it. Defeat hadn't hurt- it had been what he wanted. But this rejection did hurt. He stared at the ground, sulking.

"But I will give you this…" And with that, Ricky Bobby kissed Jean Girard.

And kissed him.

And kissed him.

The stadium fell silent. Ten thousand trailers across the country fell silent. Across the South, the only sound was the wet thud of beers hitting the floor.

Hyper little boys with Kool-Aid moustaches and rattails gaped open-mouthed at their TVs.

Camera crews rushed to catch every angle of the most interesting thing that had ever happened in NASCAR.

Cal looked confused for a moment, then gave a bewildered grin and mumbled "Shake and Bake."

Lucy Bobby gasped and slapped hands over Walker and TR's eyes.

Reese Bobby gripped the fence, stood on tiptoe, and twisted his neck out of joint trying to see what in the hell could possibly cause such a dramatic reaction. (He would find out on the 11 o'clock news later that night.)

Several seconds later Ricky released Jean and stepped back. Jean blinked, ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to process what had just happened. "Sir," he said, meeting Ricky's eyes, "You taste of America."

Ricky nodded. "Thanks." Jean slung an arm around his shoulders as they waved to a now cheering crowd.

Hmm. It couldn't hurt to try…? Jean leaned in for another kiss.

"Noooo" Ricky whined, pushing him away. "Once was good."

"Once was good." Jean echoed.

"Once was good, but twice would be better, KPLZTHNX! OMG that was HOTT" a fangirl screamed from the audience.

Ricky looked at Jean. Once had been _good_, actually. He grinned. "Well, I'm game…"

A/N :

Well, it is what it is. Yes, I'm stereotyping NASCAR fans. So sue me. I lived six-and-one-half miles from Charlotte Motor Speedway for more than ten years, and I have worked at races. I'm allowed to stereotype.

There is definite slash potential here, ne? But I'm just screwing around with it, because I wanna have the first Ricky Bobby/Jean Girard on the internet. I think I've succeeded… y'know, apart from the bitter debates some people are throwing around over a bit of random silliness in a light comedy… geez, people. Oh, and there's the "that was hot" faction, who pretty much thought the kiss was hot.

I'm with the "that was hot" faction.


	2. 1: Start your engines? How cliche!

I make no apologies. Ha! I might even claim to own the rights to the movie. And as far as I am concerned, this story doesn't belong to me. IT belongs to the light, it belongs to the thunder. Yeah. I liked the idea too much to completely shelve it.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

He studied the tapes again- foreign broadcasts from all over the world. Surely, there was someone worthy of conquering, at whose hands defeat would be an honour? There is something about having a nemisis that is so very appealing- someone who matches you in wit, in strategy, ingenuity, and sheer talent…

Jean figured one out of four wasn't too bad.

He would go to America. He would find the perfect rival in NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby.

It was clear that Ricky Bobby was talented. He was also clearly stupid- at least, that was Jean's initial assessment. The more footage he watched, however, the more latent intelligence he saw in the man. He had a brain, he just didn't use it often. The other driver on his team, though… Jean wondered how Cal had made it through more than thirty years without drowning in the shower or forgetting how to breathe.

The poor man probably didn't even realize he was completely in love with his teammate.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Ricky, your dad is just cool!" Cal was dancing back and forth on the front steps of the school, waiting for Ricky to stop staring forlornly in the direction that his father's car had gone.

"Yeah. He is. I'm gonna be just like him. 'If you ain't first, you're last.' I'm gonna get that tattooed on my butt one day, Cal."

"Heh. Butt."

"I am. I'm gonna get that tattooed right across my buttcheeks."

"Shake and bake, Ricky."

"Right on."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Gregory, we are moving to North Carolina."

"Is that in Sweden?"

"No. It is in America. I have found my opponent."

"America? Ah. Well, I'll just abandon all of my dreams and pack the shredded remains up in a ratty old suitcase than, shall I?"

"Come on- maybe it will be fun? How bad can the American South possibly be?

o.o.o.o o.o.o.o

A/N- Sure, why not. There was Cal/Ricky there too, I know I'm not the only one who noticed that. It's kinda sweet. I, sadly, am not very funny. Alas. It's okay, though. No one is reading this. If the were, however, they should be advised that this will have several short chapters, and clearly the first one back there actually belongs somewhere near the end. I just happened to write it first. I think it's a tragedy we'll all live through relatively unscathed. Hmm.


	3. 2: The Unholy Power of ESPN

No one will give me Talladega Nights, because now they've seen what I would do with it. SLASH. You know it. So I sneak out at night and use it anyway… I'm sorry, if you're looking for TN:TBoRB fic that is not slash. But you're probably not. All fanfic is slash, at heart.

**Mmm, America**

o.o.o.o o.o.o.o

A tiny image of Ricky Bobby- screaming, flailing, and miraculously disrobed, lodged itself just above the announcer's shoulder.

"Ricky Bobby is, without a doubt, the most spectacular wreck in the history of NASCAR. Looking at his life is like watching the paint bubble and char across the once smooth hood of a beloved stock car that has planted itself nose-first into a wall. You want to look away, you know you should be checking for survivors, but you just stand there, as the flames work their way toward-"

Snap. The TV went black, the smirking announcer banished back to the magical realm of ESPN.

Ricky sunk back into his mother's couch, pouting. Oh, well, really, it was a very manly and determined look of silent suffer- no. No, he was pouting. He'd lost his best friend, his house, all his stuff, his PowerAde flavours that weren't even in stores yet, his collection of Hot Wheels, that kick-ass little case shaped like maybe it was a monster truck that held the aforementioned collection of Hot Wheels. He could hear Walker and TR in the yard, well. He had his boys, at least although right about now he'd be happy to kick their little butts right back to Carly- oh. He'd lost Carly too. He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to look martyred. Well, maybe he was pouti-

RING. RING.

"Hello?"

"Ricky!" It was Cal, again, although this was in no way a surprise to Ricky. Cal had called six times already, just this morning. He sighed, his perfect moment of self-pity ruined by someone too dumb to know he was part of Ricky's terrible distress, his uncontrollable anguish, his-

"On the TV, and I thought, well, hey, I-"

"Cal!"

"must have been there when you was-"

"Cal! CAL!"

"What?"

"What are you talking about?

"I saw you on the TV. Made me… well. I miss you Ricky."

"Oh."

"…yeah. But then they started that thingy on John Geerard, and I, well. You know what though? I was thinking, Ricky, you know what this place needs?"

"For me to move back in an have my old life and for none of this mess to have ever happened?"

"Ha ha! No! Well, I guess that would be good too, but no, I was talkin' about maybe it needs some horses. Not that they have to be- well, gay horses, or nothing, but…"

"Sure. Yeah, you need horses."

"You think so? You think maybe horses like to party, Ricky? 'Cause I've been kinda lonely lately-"

"Cal, stop talking. Just, stop. Never say that again, okay?"

"Why… oh. Aw, man, you know I didn't mean anything like that, Ri-"

"Cal. Go buy some horses and leave me alone, okay?"

"Okay, dude. Ricky, you know I lo-" Click. Ricky felt the weight of despair settling back in, and he hung up the phone, mumbled to the wall.

"yeah, uh huh, bye Cal."

_Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhh._

o.o.o.o o.o.o.o

Cal set the phone down on the coffee table and watched it, hoping Ricky would call him back, and maybe say he wanted horses, too.

o.o.o.o o.o.o.o

Gregory clicked the remote and silenced the television. He watched Jean walk silently alongside the reporter, lips moving, looking quite dashing in his white suit- well. He was angry at Jean, now, wasn't he, for making him move all the way to North Carolina. He shuddered to think of what it meant that there was also a SOUTH Carolina. From what he could gather, the further south one went, the more difficult the accents were to understand, and the less tolerant the native were to his kind. Europeans, that is. Any culture that liked Jeff Gordon, 'Will & Grace,' and Clay Aiken so much couldn't be too homophobic. But still. It was NOT what he had had planned, following Jean around so that he could 'go fast' and tempt death and come home smelling like gasoline and sweat. Ew.

Jean padded quietly into the living room when he heard the sound cut off. Gregory was watching the little blip ESPN had run about him, and was fond of repeating every now and then to startle their regular audiences awake. But why had Gregory been watching ESPN in the first place? He asked.

"I was looking for him. I want to understand what you see in him."

"Him? Who? Ricky Bobby? I thought he might be- I thought maybe he was better than me."

"But, of course he isn't better than you. No one's better than YOU. Too bad for me that I am not even as interesting as he!" Gregory swept out of the room, still muttering.

Jean watched him leave, quite puzzled. What had _that _been about?

o.o.o.o o.o.o.o

A/N: Yeah. See? It's not really funny. It's headed down Angst Lane, and I'm all like, "stop! No! this isn't some serious YAOI, stupids! This is silly American slash!" But it doesn't listen. It just keeps rollin', it keeps on rollin' along.

ON THE OTHER HAND TN:TBoRB fic is so very rare, and often has little or nothing to do with the movie, which is of course why we're all here. I hope I am staying true to the source, but feel free to let me know any ways I could make this 'better' or any suggestions at all. I WILL read them, even if I totally ignore them.

Oh yeah, and chronological chapters? You should be so lucky. Isn't gonna happen. ; )


End file.
